


Burst

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blow Jobs, Collars, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Oral Sex, Ownership, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26473825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: On the road, there’s a brief return to normal.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 14
Kudos: 120





	Burst

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They’re all exhausted, both physically and emotionally—Ignis is perfectly aware that it’s not just _him_ run ragged anymore. He is the one that carries the bulk of their responsibilities—he drives, cooks, keeps stock, handles the money, even helps Noctis out of his boots before bed sometimes, because old habits die hard and Ignis _lives_ to serve. But Gladiolus and Prompto look just as run down as they finally crowd into a small motel room off the main road, and Noctis has that far away look in his eyes like he checked out hours ago. Normally, Ignis would let one of them into the washroom first. Lord knows they all need it. But then the other three start arguing over King’s Knight stats, as if they don’t have enough against them without turning on each other, and he figures, _screw them._

He fetches his toothbrush and toothpaste and weaves through his friends, off through the small wooden door. There’s a stand up shower inside, no tub, a toilet and a sink, nothing else, hardly any room. The few towels there won’t be enough for all four of them—they’ll have to stagger their showers before they head out again, if any of them can muster the strength to stand up that long. He’ll settle for brushing his teeth. And then he’ll makes sure Noctis does the same, because left to his own devices, Noctis tends to put sleep over hygiene. 

Ignis misses the days where he could half-carry a dozing Noctis to the sink and help brush his teeth, brush his hair and pull off his clothes, tenderly wrapping him up in nightwear—Ignis misses _doting_ on his prince out of love rather than necessity. Back when there was time and privacy and supplies. Back when messy hair was the worst that could happen to Noctis. He wonders how long it’s been since Noctis’ last haircut and _hates_ that he’s forgotten. His reflection tells him he needs the trim more than Noctis does, but Ignis has never been his own priority. It’s only gotten worse. He knows his mood’s worse. They managed to stop at a convenience store earlier, but even spending half their budget on Ebony didn’t help. He has an itch that hasn’t been scratched since leaving Insomnia. He knows he shouldn’t think about it. He tries to stop staring at the dark circles under his eyes while he too-aggressively scrubs his canines. 

The door cricks open, and Noctis squeezes through, already mid-yawn. Ignis pulls the toothbrush out long enough to promise, “I’m almost done.”

Noctis doesn’t stop moving. He lets the door swing shut behind him and steps around Ignis, pressing closer, flattening tight against Ignis’ body. Ignis’ breath catches as two strong arms loop around him; he’s sucked into a snug embrace. Noctis’ eyes fiercely fix on his reflection. Those hands flex against his sides. Holding Ignis’ gaze the entire time, Noctis tilts his head and drags a chaste kiss along the back of Ignis’ neck, warm and so blessedly _soft_. Ignis has missed that more than anything. A shiver wracks through his whole body, and he mumbles, “Noct—”

“I know,” Noctis breathes, thick with sorrow—maybe he really does understand. “We can’t, I get it...” It’s not that Ignis doesn’t want to. He desperately _wants to_. But Gladiolus and Prompto are waiting outside, and Noctis needs his sleep—they’ll have to hit the road tomorrow and continue their slow grind. 

But Noctis’ grip doesn’t loosen. He shifts one arm along Ignis’ chest to hold him in place while the other withdraws. Noctis pulls something long and dark out of his pocket, holding it up in front of Ignis—a thin, plain, utilitarian _pet collar._

Ignis can practically feel his pupils dilating. He fixes on the collar and can’t look away. Noctis mutters, “Found it at the shop today. It’s not as nice as the ones I used to commission for you back home, but...” It doesn’t matter. It was never about how _nice_ the jewelry from Noctis was. It wasn’t even about the elaborate royal seal stamped on every one. It was about the _symbol_ of it—the idea: being _Noctis’._ Ignis’ breath holds as Noctis lifts it up against his throat, smoothing the cheap fabric along his skin, tucking it beneath his collar. The straps twist around his nape, and Noctis shifts to clasp it together, testing it with one finger, tight but not _too_ tight. Ignis can still breathe. And he can feel it with every swallow. His pulse is racing. He hasn’t worn a collar in far too long. 

He probably still shouldn’t. It’s not like back home, where he could button up a suit and tie and be sure no one ever saw it. But he imagines that even if Gladiolus or Prompto did catch a glimpse, they’d be kind enough not to say anything. It’s not about what it looks like anyway, but the feeling of being _owned._ Of course, looking at it is a nice bonus—his reflection is suddenly twice as appealing.

Noctis reaches around to pop the top few buttons on Ignis’ shirt open, enough to tug the purple material aside and place a kiss against his shoulder. “M’sorry, Iggy,” Noctis breathes against his skin, hot and _wonderful_. “I know I’ve been dead weight lately. It’s a lot to process... but I know I’m still the prince. Or... king. Or whatever.” His chin rises, hooking over Ignis’ shoulder—he fastens around Ignis again and insists, “That means you’re still _royal property_.”

Ignis bites his bottom lip. He wants to moan. A trickle of peppermint suds foam at the corner of his lips, and he clamps a hand over his mouth, sucking the paste up before he spits it out. He takes a quick swig of tap water, turns around, and Noctis gives him just enough room to manage. The toothbrush clatters to the sink. Ignis cups his prince’s handsome face with both hands, tilting in for a kiss—he _needed_ this. He needed to be pressed against Noctis, to feel Noctis press against him back, to feel the tent in Noctis’ trousers and the insistent push of Noctis’ tongue against his lips. Ignis automatically opens up and takes Noctis inside him, moaning as Noctis ferociously eats him out. 

They shouldn’t be doing this. Ignis knows that. It still takes him several attempts to turn his mouth away, and then Noctis just goes right on kissing him, nipping at his jaw and sucking at his throat above the collar, groaning against him, “Can we afford a separate room...?”

Ignis shakes his head. Maybe if he hadn’t bought all that Ebony. He rasps, “No.” And they can’t do anything here, except Noctis bruising a hickey into his neck is more than he can handle—Ignis’ knees are shaking. 

He lets them collapse. He sinks ceremoniously down to the tile, kneeling at Noctis’ feet. Noctis’ hands fall to his cheeks, brushing them, palms cradling his blush. Noctis licks his lips and mutters, “Iggy—” but Ignis doesn’t want room to protest. Room to think. 

He turns to kiss Noctis’ hand and whispers, “I’ll be quick.” Noctis nods. He doesn’t have to do anything else. Ignis is on him like a starving man, all but ripping his belt open and clawing down his fly. It’s the final straw for Ignis. He can’t take it anymore. They used to do this _every night_ , and he hasn’t slept with Noctis’ erection wedged up against his backside in _weeks_. He has Noctis’ pants down in a heartbeat, boxers joining them, and then Noctis’ gorgeous cock is springing out, gloriously hard for Ignis, every bit as big and beautiful as Ignis remembered. He knows he doesn’t have much time, but he wastes precious seconds just ogling it anyway, then nuzzling into it, slowly licking it, _savouring_ it—he noses against Noctis’ balls and buries his face in the dark hair at Noctis’ crotch, shaking as he inhales. It’s _so good_. He feels it smearing pre-cum across his cheek and _needs_ it down his throat. He needs _Noctis._

He opens wide and swallows the head, mouthing at that a few times before he dares go deeper. It’s not just for his own comfort, but to warm Noctis up—Noctis can be quite vocal, and this time, they can’t afford the screams. The motel walls won’t be as thick as the Citadel’s or Noctis’ expensive apartment. So Ignis takes Noctis down bit by bit, greedily drinking in all of Noctis’ giddy moans. Noctis’ fingers slide into his hair and tug at his scalp, fingernails scraping, but Ignis _loves that._ Loves Noctis. He loves the way Noctis stutters against his lips but tries to hold back from completely bucking into him, choking him, even though Ignis loves gagging on Noctis’ cock. When his eyes flicker up, Noctis is peering down, bleary-eyed and open-mouthed, flushed red and so _pretty_. Ignis is glad he kept his glasses on, so he can make out every detail. Noctis thoughtfully taps at one of the lenses, as though to suggest taking them off, but Ignis hopes they can make it out before they fog the bathroom up. He knows they have to be quick, so he sucks as hard as he can. 

He sucks and swallows and bobs up and down, taking Noctis right to the root every time. His hands cling to Noctis’ thighs, scraped by the coarse hairs there, loving the taste of it and the raw stench and the wet, slapping noises. Noctis’ noises are even better. He tries to bite back his groans but doesn’t manage well, and he keeps muttering, “Ignis—Iggy— _fuck_ , babe, I’m gonna—”

Ignis watches the pleasure snake through Noctis’ body and feels it in himself. He doesn’t reach down, doesn’t knead his cock with the heel of his palm like he sometimes does, doesn’t take himself out and stroke his shaft—he doesn’t have to. Not when it’s been so long. He’s so _ready_. He gives a particularly hard suck, hyper conscious of every little detail of Noctis’ dick, and that’s enough for him. He comes in his briefs with a strangled cry, completely muffled around his mouthful. Noctis tugs his hair and moans, “ _Iggy_ —”

Then Noctis is coming, hot and sticky, right onto Ignis’ tongue. Ignis shoves himself forward, taking Noctis completely down his throat, and lets it spurt there instead. It makes him shiver and struggle, but he manages, manages _for Noctis_. It only makes sense. They can’t afford to make a mess. So while he’d proudly wear Noctis’ cum around Noctis’ apartment back home, this time, he greedily laps it all up until there’s nothing left. 

He waits until Noctis is practically convulsing on his tongue before he pulls back. Noctis’ flaccid cock tumbles out of his mouth on a string of saliva that Ignis lewdly licks up. He misses the taste already. Misses the burn. He wishes he could afford to warm Noctis’ cock all night, but sadly, a sore throat isn’t a smart thing to tempt with battles on the horizon. They need to be able to call to each other. He needs to be able to _scream Noctis’ name._

Noctis is moving. He kneels down on the floor next to Ignis and opens his arms, pulling Ignis into a weak, boneless hug. A hand gently massages his back, and Noctis pants, “Damn... almost forgot how good you were at that...” Ignis doesn’t have the energy to acknowledge the compliment. Noctis pecks his cheek and whispers, “Good boy, Iggy.”

Ignis shivers. Hearing that always gets to him. He tries, he really does. He wants to be _the best_ for Noctis. Noctis affectionately rubs his knee and mutters, “Sorry you’ll have to brush your teeth again.”

Ignis crooks a dazed smile. It’ll be worth it. Especially when Noctis gives him a short but deep kiss, sharing the salty remains together. Noctis even drops a hand between Ignis’ legs, tentatively palming the flagging bulge there, but the wet patch must be obvious. Noctis murmurs, “Wow... you really have been pent up...”

Ignis nods. He has. But he wouldn’t have said anything. It’s such a small, childish longing in the grand scheme of things—just one more pressure Noctis shouldn’t have on his shoulders. Noctis sighs, “Sorry. I... I’m gonna try and take care of you more, I promise.” A thick blush taints his cheeks, and he amends, “I mean, I know you’re the one really taking care of me, but, y’know, when it comes to this...”

When it comes to the bedroom, Ignis wants his prince to completely, thoroughly _own him_ , and nothing else will do. He can’t come if it’s not for Noctis. Noctis gives him another fleeting kiss and offers, “Let me clean you up, I’ll—”

But Ignis shakes his head, because it’s too far, and it’s been enough. He pushes Noctis’ hands away, even though he’d like to stay in them all night. Then he unsteadily pushes up to his feet, wincing at the way his underwear is glued to him. He sucks in a breath and tries to say as steadily as he can, “It’s alright, Noct. The others will be wondering. You should go back. I just need a minute to clean up, and I can be right out.”

“I can—”

“Noct, if you touch me there, I’m afraid we’ll be in here all night.”

Noctis cracks a small smile. He has to know it’s true. He blessedly gives up and nods, though he reaches for Ignis’ hand and asks, “Can we at least share a bed tonight? There are only two anyway, and I think Prom’s getting tired of ignoring my morning wood...”

Ignis snorts. But he nods. He couldn’t resist Noctis now if he wanted to. Especially not with Noctis’ collar around his throat. It’s such a blessing to _feel_ that, to know it’s there. He has to will himself not to start stroking it and get infatuated. He has a job to do. 

He ushers Noctis out and resumes brushing his teeth, suddenly in a lovely mood.


End file.
